


Just a Little Slower

by Cheshagirl



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Derogatory Language, F/M, Oral Sex, Slow Sex, Smut, Vaginal Sex, but i think he deserves to sleep after a good fuck, just some good ole geralt smut, yes i know geralt meditates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:28:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23261719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheshagirl/pseuds/Cheshagirl
Summary: He wants to drawback, let loose, but the way your face skews with pleasure is enough to satisfy him as he thrusts slowly.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 289





	Just a Little Slower

**Author's Note:**

> just wanted to practice writing smut and also geralt because I'm into him
> 
> if you liked this fic leave a comment! Or if you want to request something check out my tumblr: cheshawrites

Geralt liked to be rough when he met whores along his travels. He never struck them or left them with bruises of pain, only pleasure. But he wasn’t a love maker. He didn’t like soft and slow, didn’t like to leave lingering kisses or feather-light touches lest they mistake it for vulnerability. A witcher had no feelings, and so he kept it that way. But he was a man like any other and needed to release pent up energy and frustrations, and when those times came he found himself a brothel and a whore and he fucked her hard and fast. He made sure to satisfy them before they were done, but he didn’t waste time afterward, putting on his armor, paying, and leaving as soon as their night was done. 

So when you, another unlucky one sent to occupy his time, asked for him to go slow, Geralt froze. You had asked so meekly, so quietly, that anyone without the Witcher’s keen senses could’ve missed it. Eyes downcast, fingers white as they twisted in your flimsy underdress. You were scared, he could tell, but whether it was from him or something else he couldn’t distinguish. When he’d entered your room you were quick to shed outer layers and smile at him, and he sensed no fear there, but when he pushed you up against a wall and bit at your lips and neck your fear had spiked and you’d shoved him away. Then you told him, not a virgin but a new worker here at the brothel. Sold to the boss by your father for beer money, and originally only meant to clean up rooms. But no one had wanted to sleep with the witcher so they sent you. 

For a brief moment, Geralt almost considered leaving. But his eyes took you in, shorter and so delicate looking. Honestly, to any other person maybe you wouldn’t appear so frail but to the mountain of a man before you, you were another flower he could crush. A sigh leaves your plump lips, and Geralt realizes he’d been sitting in silence for too long. You say something about finding another harlot to occupy his time, reaching for your robes you’d discarded. He stops you.

His hands, so large and calloused gently guide you back until you’re splayed out on the bed. Already sweat glistens on your skin, golden eyes following a droplet that travels down the valley of your breasts. 

_This is fine._ He thinks, shedding his shirt. _Slow is a nice change._

Only his heart disagrees. It pounds tremendously loud in his ears and to you, his hands remain steady, if a little wobbly, but to him, they shake as though he’d been plunged into freezing cold. Your skin is hot but so, so soft and pliant as he feels your hips, squeezing and rolling the muscle and fat. Geralt leans down, planting a kiss on your collarbone, then down between your bosom and then below your naval. Silver locks twist into your gentle grip, tugging just enough for him to growl at it, but not enough to hurt. 

“Geralt,” You sigh, lips parting and eyes hazy as he lowers himself to your mound. He pauses, looking for any sign of discomfort or fear and finds none, just lust. 

“I should be taking care of you,” You murmur, attempting to close your thighs. “This is horribly greedy of me.”

He hums lowly at your words, and grabs your thighs, preventing them from hiding yourself. 

“I believe the only greedy one here is me.” His voice is low and thick, and your body reacts to it in the most pleasing way. When his tongue licks across your folds you jerk, somehow surprised by the gentle and passionate way he laps and sucks. Such intimate care is directed to your clit, and you find yourself untangling a hand from his hair to grasp the bedsheets. It’s a pathetic attempt to try and ground yourself with each roll of his tongue across your heat. He offers no mercy, intent on devouring you, letting you fall apart against him. Geralt holds you down with one wide hand splayed across your abdomen, the other holds your thigh over his shoulder. The room grows far too hot, and his bare skin sticks to yours. He hums against you, your scent overwhelming and not enough all at once. Never had something so good been presented to him, certainly not in this manner, but as you peak, body bowing to pleasure, he’s sure he might not taste anything as sweet ever again.

The room spins and stars cloud your vision. You slump against the sheets, chest heaving and body weak. You can’t remember the last time you had ever come like that. Geralt shuffles, moving to prop himself above you on his elbows, white hair falling down like a curtain. You remember for a moment that you should be focusing on his pleasure, but any thought is wiped from your head when he kisses you. It’s passionate and hard, his tongue pressing against your lips and you allow it access, tasting yourself and whining when he draws back with a nip to your bottom lip. With little effort the witcher turns you over, broad hands splaying out across your bottom and squeezing the flesh playfully. He leans down, chest pressing against your back and presses his nose to the crook of your neck. Geralt heaves a deep sigh, relishing in your scent and pulling your hips up. You gasp at the feeling of his cock, hard and thick, against your ass. 

“Quiet,” He groans softly, grinding down against you. “I’ll be gentle.”

You nearly laugh and tell him it wasn’t a matter of gentle at this point, he had proven he was a most ardent lover and respected his partners. But when he guides himself into you all that comes out of you is high pitched whine, your back arching and fingers digging into the sheets. Geralt grinds slowly, almost carefully as he gauges your reaction to each thrust. He wants nothing more than to draw back and lose control, leave you with bruises in the morning but he settles for this slow pace, content with watching your face skew and hearing the moans that fall from your lips. He fills you satisfyingly well, and each time he pushes back into you a jolt of pleasure travels up your spine. At some point you had closed your eyes, vision going fuzzy with overwhelming pleasure. Your mouth drops open, not bothering to try and stop each gasp and cry that tumbled out. You’re sure the witcher could care less, probably used to women in your position making the same noises. A particularly deep thrust from the large man has you pushing back against him and asking for _more, more, more._

“So close!” You cry, reaching back and fumbling until your hand finds his forearm, grasping it tightly as you try to ground yourself. Geralt grunts, picking up his pace and gritting his teeth, each roll of his hips had you whimpering, a heavenly sound to his ears. When your hand, so small and soft compared to his, grabs his arm he almost chokes. Very rarely did the whores he sleeps with grab him like this like he was a pillar of safety and stability as they lost themselves in passion. You called out his name like a prayer, you tell him you’re almost there and he leans down. Your skin slides against his and he bites your shoulder, canines digging in enough to leave a bruise but not to pierce and he briefly hopes you won’t mind it. Then you wail, walls pulsing around him as you come for the second time that night. Despite his best efforts, Geralt finds himself following soon after with a bellow, chest rumbling against you. 

You’re not sure how much time passes before you realize he’s slumped on top of you, cock still stuffed inside you as his cum leaks out. His weight is warm and comforting, offering you a feeling of security that might’ve been familiar once but had long since disappeared from your life. Sleep would’ve come easily to you then, if he hadn’t groaned and slowly rolled off you, covering his face with an arm. For a moment you worry he might not have enjoyed your company as much as you thought. 

You clear your throat and begin to speak when he interrupts you, using his other hand to pull you closer, bringing you over his chest. When you’ve settled on top of him his hand drifts, rubbing soothing circles against your hip. In a few moments, the movements stop and his breathing evens out, peacefully slumbering beneath you. You remain with him throughout his sleep, cursing out anyone who tried to interrupt.


End file.
